


Captive Prince Ficlets

by queenegeria (multifandomcircusfreak)



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-09-14 19:12:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9198950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multifandomcircusfreak/pseuds/queenegeria
Summary: A series of ficlets, centered on captive prince AUs.





	1. Undercover Cops AU

If you had asked Laurent several months ago, when he had started his investigation, where he would be right now, it wouldn’t take a detective to know that he wouldn’t say here. He wouldn’t have even  _ guessed  _ at the possibility that he would be sitting in a chair outside the task manager’s office, cursing both his own stupidity and the stupidity of whoever was responsible for such a colossal oversight.

He had heard of two detectives being placed in the same territory for a major case, so that there was less chance of both of them switching sides over the course of the investigation. But even that was rare. It was  _ unheard of  _ for two top investigators to be placed, not only on the same case, but unaware of each other, in opposing personas. Laurent pursed his lips in compressed rage and humiliation. How had anyone even  _ possibly  _ thought that this would end in any way other than- 

It was Damen, sitting in the chair beside him, who spoke the words first. “So, you’re not a prostitute.”

He was pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“No,” Laurent said carefully. “And you’re not a patron.”

That made Damen slip into a posture of further shame, dropping his elbows onto his knees and placing his head in the palms of his hands. “Oh my god,” he was saying over and over again.

It made Laurent almost want to reach over and touch him, place a soothing hand between his shoulder blades. He had liked that, back in the Summer Palace. It was a strange thought to have, and it almost made Laurent recoil. He didn’t look very different. He was still wearing a suit - with the addition of a badge - and his hair was the same mass of dark locks. His confidence and full-bodied charisma was lacking, but that might have been a product of the shock that he was still struggling to process. All in all, despite the investigation being over, Damen had not magically transformed, physically.

No, the change was in the knowledge that this was not Damen Karthas, patron and frequent visitor of the Summer Palace. He was Damianos Akielos, leader of Ios Investigations and current member of the  _ bloody FBI.  _

And Laurent had never been Laurent d’Acquitart, an escort of the infamous brothel. He was Special Agent Laurent de Vere.  __

“How have we never met?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” Damen muttered, lifting his face from his hands. “I mean, I don’t usually run investigations for the Bureau. They usually just call on me for intel. But I’m a contact and they said they needed someone who could-”

“Play the part,” Laurent finished for him. They had said the same thing to him. Though he’d assumed that, for him, it was because the Assistant Director knew he wouldn’t say no. Who better for the job than a pretty face with a desire to prove himself and nothing else to do for the six months it would take to go undercover.

Or under covers, if he was feeling humorous. 

Damen’s mind was running down similar roads, because he turned to Laurent with a wide-eyed expression of utter guilt. “Oh god. I am so sor-”

“No, don’t apologize,” Laurent cut him off, nipping that train of thought at the bud. “I knew what I was signing up for. To that extent, at least.”

But that didn’t feel exactly true. Because while Laurent had worked hard enough to make it into the boss’s inner circle, the amount of  _ prostitution  _ that he done was very little. Every client who had come seeking his blond hair and pale skin had been expertly redirected into someone else’s arms. But that hadn’t stopped Damen and Laurent from falling into bed with each other numerous times over the last few months. Until now, he’d never let himself admit that it was something other than the job. 

Maybe it was a good thing that Damen had been undercover as well. It would have been no good, Laurent realized, to have fallen in love with a crime lord.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here,” Laurent said quietly, “and hope that you’re just a very dedicated cop and  _ not  _ a pervert.”

Damen laughed softly, and Laurent’s mind was once again split open by how close it sounded to the one that had so often been pressed into the curve of his neck. 

“I’ll deny the pervert part.” Damen paused for a moment, debating whether or not he should continue. He looked away before he spoke. “But… Fuck, this is going to sound so bad. What happened between you and me, Laurent… I can’t honestly say that it was just an act.”

For a few seconds, the air between them was heavy.

“Good,” Laurent said finally. 

A shocked breath pushed out of him, Damen looked up. “What?”

“For a moment there, I thought I was the only one.” 

They gazed at each other, and it was ridiculous, really, for it to have taken two detectives of their calibre this long to figure out. Because underneath the gaudy silk wardrobe and the flashy wristwatch and the denial as thick as that stupid velvet bedding, Laurent knew that it wasn’t the belief that Damen was a key role in the chain of prostitution rings that had lead them together. 

No, it was the smile he had shot Laurent across the bar on that first night. It was the genuine interest in his life hidden in the intel-probing flirting. It was Damen’s strong arms and the awed way he looked at Laurent in the morning and it was the rush of thrill and arousal that spiked through him when he spotted him in the lounge. Most of all, it was that fateful conversation when he had held Laurent in bed and promised him, risking everything, that he would get him out of there.

Damen knew this too, and it left his jaw dropped open like a fish. There were a thousand words unspoken when the door of the task manager’s office opened and an assistant informed the two of them, with a familiar embarrassed expression, that Makedon would see them now.

“At least we caught him,” Damen said slowly. It was an out, not meant for himself, but for Laurent. He could still shake this off and say  _ Yes, at least there’s that. We cracked the case open. The only good part of this whole mess is that one hundred criminals are behind bars.  _ He could say that and walk away.

He didn’t.

He said, with a war raging in his head, “I think you’d find that my bed is much better quality.”

A slow smile spread across Damen’s face. “I’m sure it is. But I think I’d at least buy you dinner before finding that out.”

“I don’t put out on the first date.”

“Oh, I’d never assume that you would.”

The two of them were grinning now, not caring that poor Makedon’s assistant was waiting. 

“Typically,” Damen looked into Laurent’s eyes, “a relationship starts with dinner and  _ ends  _ with sex.”

“But this wasn’t a typical case,” Laurent said, leading him into Makedon’s office. When Damen let out that hearty laugh in response, Laurent knew that nothing, except for his clothing and their situation, had changed. And that he was no longer cursing the stupidity of whoever was responsible for this glorious, wondrous oversight.


	2. Cop vs Fireman AU

If there was one thing Aimeric knew coming out of the academy, it was that police officers and firemen did not get along. It was like some kind of ancient rule, written on the walls of every fire station and police department in the country. You did not talk to the firemen, you did not become friends with the firemen, you did not sleep with the fireman. As a cop, he knew murder was illegal and initiation ceremonies could definitely get you arrested, but he felt as though there was some kind of long-standing consequence that would befall you if you broke the rules.

The only time that firemen and police officers ever crossed paths was after a 911 call, and even then it was distant, following orders and protocol. The only thing that mattered was making sure the victims got out okay.

An hour long dispatch was bad enough. A dispatch left Jord grumbling and Lazar complaining about the new guy who had gotten all the credit during a rescue. But it was nothing,  _ nothing _ compared to the word that sent chills down the backs of the entire precinct.

_ Arson. _

Because arson wasn’t just a one time fire. Arson was a crime. And a crime meant that, by law, a detective had to be put on the case. Which meant that until the case was solved or marked cold, the precinct had to deal with- 

“The fire department,” Nicaise scowled. 

A collective groan went through the precinct, and Aimeric watched as the atmosphere completely transformed. Jord slowly tucked all his heavy and breakable items into his desk, Lazar pushed his case files out of the way to make room for his feet, and Nicaise smiled creepily, reaching into one of his drawers and pulling out a fork. Aimeric… really hadn’t been there long enough to know what that meant. 

The real change was Captain de Vere, who came out of his office when he heard of their arrival. Laurent never left his office unless it was necessary or he felt like chewing one of the officers out. For him to walk out in that eerily calm way of his, and stand there, waiting… Aimeric  shuddered. The captain was not someone you wanted to have on your bad side.

With the entire room on edge, the fire squad walked in. Chief Akielos was in the lead, strolling into the precinct like he owned it. He was giant, as was the rest of his crew; Aimeric knew some of them by name: Nikandros, Pallas, Makedon. They all looked as though they were untouchable heroes marching on enemy territory. Aimeric wanted to smack that smug look off of their faces.

“Damianos,” Laurent greeted, fixing his frosty gaze on the fire chief.

“Laurent.” Akielos matched his tone. The first name basis was a formality.

“I believe you’re here to tell me that it was the owner who torched the place,” Laurent said calmly.

“It always is with arson.”

Laurent stepped closer, so that he was up in the chief’s face. “Well, you’re wrong.”

Akielos’s brow raised in amusement. For a second, he glanced down at Nicaise holding his fork, but that only made his smirk deepen, as though he were humouring some private joke. 

“Oh, really?” He turned the amusement back towards Laurent. “Then tell me who it was.”

Aimeric watched as Laurent maintained his cold composure despite the man’s dismissiveness. _Whatever floats your boat,_ his words had really meant. _If you say so._ Aimeric knew it, Laurent knew it, everyone in the room did. Aimeric sat on the edge of his seat, waiting for what his captain was going to do next; no one undermined Laurent and got away with it. He had seen the way he turned grown men into blubbering children with just his words. And that was for minor misdemeanours. The _fire department_  was a whole nother story.

The precinct had never liked the fire department, that much was clear. But where Laurent usually kept a cool distance from the opinions of his squad, the rivalry worked him up enough to make him actually participate. Every sly comment about the ‘barbarians’ and joke about how ‘firefighters are all idiots, but Damianos is the king of them’ was magnified tenfold solely because it was  _ him _ saying it. No one in the precinct hated the fire department more than Captain de Vere.

Laurent sent Akielos a smile that would seem friendly if you didn’t know him. “It wasn’t the owner. It was his daughter.” He plucked a stack of photos off of the top of a file cabinet and handed it over to his adversary. He continued as the chief flipped through them. “Selene Castillo, daughter of Sal Castillo, the owner of the pizza place that was burnt down. I think you’ll notice from the pictures that the cabinet containing Sal’s recipes was broken open.”

Akielos gave him the look again. “But nothing was stolen. Only money from the register.”

“Because she didn’t need the recipe. She knows it already. The cabinet  _ and  _ the register were only red herrings for her real plan.” Laurent smirked. “Turn to the next picture.”

A frown appeared on Akielos’s face when he did. “Who is-”

“ _ That  _ would be Neal Jackson, son of Mitch Jackson, aka Sal’s competition. Sad story. Two lovers forbidden from being together because of a family feud. If you recall, there was a fire in Mitch’s kitchen-”

“Two weeks ago,” Akielos said. He looked so dumb right now, sporting the expression that every man gained when he realized how smart Laurent was. Aimeric smirked in satisfaction.  _ Firefighters. _

“Neal and Selene collaborated to burn down their parent’s shops, steal the insurance money and run away together. They’ll use the money to open up a new place; with both their families’ recipes and their stores closed, there would be no competition.” Laurent took a step closer, until there was only an inch of charged space between them. “Such a sweet story. A shame they’ll be arrested for arson and insurance fraud.” 

Laurent stepped away, and the air buzzed with the knowledge that he’d won. It wasn’t a surprise, Aimeric thought. Cops were simply smarter than firefighters, and de Vere was the smartest of them all. Akielos’s dumb face was like stone, keeping his dignity intact in the wake of his humiliation. Aimeric almost wanted to clap. 

“Well, Captain,” the fire chief said slowly. “I guess there’s nothing left for us here to do.”

_ That’s right. Crawl back to your station with your tail between your legs. _

“Not quite,” Laurent responded, drawing out the words like he could taste his victory on them. “I think your men should watch out for the other stores on that street. Neal and Selene will hit another one to cover up their pattern.”

The two men shared an intense gaze. Tension resulting from their obvious hatred of each other and the unequal ground after Laurent’s show made the atmosphere seem to crackle like a live wire.

“Very well,” Akielos said. “Then I should really be getting back. It seems we have work to do.”

He turned, and his men went with him. Aimeric smiled, pleased with how much they had just owned those muscleheads. When he tried to get Jord to share his reaction, he just ducked his head and pressed two figures against his temple.

Akielos stopped in his tracks. He turned around, flashing a brilliant smile in Laurent’s direction. “Before I forget,” he grinned. “Do you want to go out for dinner tonight or should I cook?” 

Aimeric’s jaw dropped. He waited for Laurent to eviscerate him, for this to be some strange kind of trash-talking.  

Laurent simply shrugged, gaining a smile that Aimeric had never seen on him. “Let’s go out. It’s not our anniversary every day.” 

Akielos nodded. “What are you thinking? Thai? Italian?”

Laurent walked forward, and to Aimeric’s utter horror, pecked Akielos on the cheek. “I really don’t care,” he said, “as long as it isn’t pizza.” Akielos laughed. “Now, get out of here, you giant animal.” 

Akielos submitted to Laurent’s light pushing, and nodded for his squad to leave with him. Once the entire lot of them had left the room, Laurent’s smile lingered for a moment. Then he faced his own men and with characteristic ruthlessness, told them, “What are you waiting for? Those cases aren’t going to complete themselves.”

He went back into his office and shut the door.

  
Aimeric discovered that he really had to rethink what he had learned at the academy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is lowkey a Brooklyn 99 AU and I love it so much. Damen is essentially the Kevin of Laurent's precinct. Need info on the captain? "D-man! My main guy!" "... It's pronounced Damen."


	3. Tarzan AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame niniblack for this.

“You know, Jord told me that there’s lions in the jungle,” Aimeric said haughtily. “Real, wild, savage lions. It doesn’t bother me, of course, the possibility that they could wander into our camp at any time and massacre us. I think I could take them.”

“I’m sure you could,” Laurent mused, not looking up from his book. 

“There’s baboons, too. Monkeys, as well. Maybe even tigers, jaguars, hyenas… I wouldn’t be surprised if there were komodo dragons.”

Laurent glanced up at him, wondering if he was aware that he had just named several species that didn’t exist in the same habitat. “Do you know why you’re here, Aimeric?”

Aimeric adopted that silly arrogant pose of his, arms crossed with his nose in the air. “Of course I do. I’m a crucial part of the expedition.”

“You’re a secretary. You’re here to take notes.”

“I’m your uncle’s favourite secretary. That’s why he brought me along; he told me.”

_ No,  _ Laurent thought.  _ My uncle’s favourite secretary is in France, a boat voyage away from the savage lions that could sneak into our camp at any time and massacre us. You’re here because your father wants you to be. And my uncle wants your father’s compliance.  _

“Get out of my tent,” he said and went back to his book. The reason  _ Laurent  _ was here was because Auguste and his well-meaning intentions had decided that there was no better gift for Laurent’s birthday than to send him on the once-in-a-lifetime expedition their uncle was planning. He could see his brother’s train of thought; Laurent was an academic to the core, and this was a wonderful opportunity for him to see the exotic flora and fauna that he loved to study so much. What Auguste  _ didn’t know  _ was that their uncle was currently making a deal to stuff said fauna and sell it to Guion de Fontaine’s museum. 

Laurent would get his name in the history books; for all the wrong reasons. His name would be tied to his uncle’s, his own research would be found contradictory of his past, he would never get grants, and who would he have to lean on for support of his superiors? Why, his esteemed uncle of course. Check and mate. 

He stuffed his book into his pocket and left the tent. The longer he stayed in this boiling, blazing place, the more he could feel the noose around his neck get tighter. His uncle couldn’t take the family title or company from Auguste, but he could keep Laurent under his thumb enough to have the influence he needed. The moment they returned and the deal was made, that was when the ‘favours’ would begin. All because of a damn will. 

It made Laurent angry. He marched past Jord talking Aimeric up, past his uncle’s tent, past Govart, the supposed ‘bodyguard’ that would throw Laurent to the crocodiles to save his own skin. No one stopped him. No one dared come near him. He threw back the door to the makeshift fence surrounding their camp and entered the jungle.

His research might soon mean nothing to the academic world, but it still meant something to him.

Like every other time he stepped foot in the jungle, his breath was taken away. It was a magnificent world of undiscovered biology, waiting to be recorded in his journal. He recognized some of the plants from the notes from Herode’s voyage. They had never come this far, though, or stayed this long. It was a touch-and-go type of trip to learn the basics of the terrain, and how many men could be provided for, if there were natives nearby. Laurent remembered the day they’d returned, when he had practically ambushed Herode in the hallway so that he could extract every bit of information he had gained. 

But Herode’s sparse sketches were nothing like this world of vibrant colour. Being alone here was a terrible danger, he knew, but it was like leaving his uncle behind and trading that frustration for  _ this. _ He barely knew where to start.

Within a second, he had whipped his journal out and began sketching the first flower he saw. There were so many; it was a crime that he would not get to see and document them all. He moved on to a different flower, one with a longer stalk, and continued the process. He would have to bring a larger journal, he thought, next time; the pages were filling up quickly as he moved deeper into the forest. Laurent wondered dryly what his uncle would think if a lion appeared right now and mauled him.  _ A pity _ , his mind supplied in the familiar voice.  _ He would have been so useful. But a few public tears will give me the support of the university, his brother, and access to the funding his father promised to him in a few years. Hoorah. _

Laurent grimaced. The cards really were in his uncle’s hands. 

He heard a rustle in the trees beside him and quickly turned around, images of lions flashing into his head. But then he saw the culprit of the movement and laughed at himself; there were no lions; only a small, furry little creature, staring up at him. Laurent racked his brain for a name. From the shape of the face, he decided that it was a  _ baboon. _ And a baby one at that.

“Hello,” he said. “Come to join me?”

The baboon, of course, didn’t speak french. It was young enough to ignore survival instincts, approaching Laurent. His pencil was already out, sketching its form. He watched in amazement afterwards, as the baboon stuck its claws into the fabric of his clothing and began to climb onto his shoulder, as though wanting to see the results.

“I’m not the best at portraits,” Laurent marvelled. “But aren’t you cute. Do you like it?” 

The baboon apparently did like it, because it ripped the journal from his hands and took off with it.

“Hey!” Laurent yelled, launching into a chase. “That is weeks of scientific evidence! Not a plaything! You come back here!”

The little devil was fast, but he managed to cut it off once it stopped on a rock to admire his prize. “That is mine!” Laurent scolded, reclaiming his journal and shoving it into his pocket. “I take it back, you aren’t cute. You’re evil, you’re an evil little beast, a thief, you… What would your mama say, huh? I bet if she could see how naughty you are, she would say-”

A growl came from behind him. Slowly, Laurent turned around. An entire pack of baboons was facing him, snarling, poised to attack. Frozen in place, Laurent said the only thing that came to mind. “Is that your mama? She does look very cross with you.” And then he screamed and ran in the opposite direction. 

_ Baboons are extremely fast,  _ he noted.  _ If I survive, that will be going in the journal. _ He struggled not to trip over the roots and moss that were protruding from the ground or strangle himself in the vines coming down from the trees. It was helpless. They were everywhere, beside him, above him. They were faster and deadlier and they  _ really  _ didn’t like him. He was going to die. He felt the baboons closing in on him -

\- and then he was yanked into the air. Laurent screamed again. A baboon had gotten him and now - but it wasn’t a baboon. It was a man. His mind struggled to process the reality; a man wearing no clothes had grabbed him by the waist and was now carrying him in his arms as he swung on a vine. The shock passed and he began to thrash in the foreign man’s arms. Baboons, he understood. But this was some kind of hallucination, caused by the sun or poisonous plants or  _ something. _ The man gripped him tighter, restraining him.

And then he dropped him onto a thick branch of a tree. The baboons were gone, Laurent noted. He almost would have preferred them.

“You let me go!” he shrieked, scrambling away from the man. He pressed himself up against the trunk of the tree, as far as he could get without falling. “Who are you? Where have you come from? What do you want?”

The man, obviously, did not speak french.

Not a stowaway, then. But Herode had said there were no natives. Before Laurent could figure out how to proceed, the man grabbed his arm and pulled him closer. Flailing, Laurent stopped him by placing a boot against his chest. “Stay back,” he said, uselessly. He kicked him away, but the man approached him, a critical look in his eyes. As though  _ Laurent  _ were the strange one.

The wildman tilted his head, his gaze passing over Laurent’s features. He lifted a hand and pressed it to Laurent’s jaw, like a caress, before sliding it down over his chest, going lower… “How dare you!” Laurent gasped, raising his hand for a slap; the man caught his wrist. They stared at each other. 

“How dare you,” the man said to him.

“How dare  _ I _ ?” Laurent exclaimed. “You’re the one who was molesting me, you brute! I have it in my mind to -” He stopped. “You can speak.”

“You can speak.”

Laurent squinted at him. Nevermind, then. What a specimen this stranger was; he was larger than Laurent, thickly muscled, with skin much darker than Laurent’s own, but still lighter than that of the cultures anywhere near them. He seemed completely out of place, yet so comfortable in this environment.

The man’s grip on Laurent’s wrist changed, and he brought his hand up against Laurent’s, palms together. Instinctively, they simultaneously stretched out their fingers, so that their hands were flat against the other. Laurent watched as the man’s eyes widened, as though some discovery was taking place. 

“Damen,” he said dreamily. And then, with his other hand on his chest, “Damen.”

“Is that your name?” Laurent asked, feeling like he was in some sort of trance. 

The man grinned. “Isthatyourname.”

Sensing the misunderstanding, Laurent shook his head and repeated Damen’s gesture. “Laurent.”

“Laurent,” Damen repeated.

The two of them gazed at each other again, and Laurent felt that there was some kind of communication passing between them, only he couldn’t understand what it was. There were a million questions he wanted to ask Damen - who was he? where did he come from? where was his family? did he have one? did he need help? - but he lacked the tools to get any of them across. 

Still, he found himself asking, “Who are you, Damen?” It was addressed more to himself than to his new acquaintance. 

His fingers found his journal before his mind realized it, and with Damen’s eyes on him the entire time, he began to sketch. On paper, he tried his best to capture the intensity in the strange man’s eyes, and the way his hair fell in a tangled mess down his back. He sketched the lines of his face, the outlines of his muscles. There was little he could do about capturing his colouring; Laurent had left his pastel crayons at the camp.

The camp. He didn’t know how to get back there.

Biting his lip, he turned to the next page of his journal. On it, he drew an image of the camp’s fence, and of the plants that surrounded it. He presented it to Damen.

“Can you take me there? Can you take me to my camp?”

Damen studied the drawing for a moment, and to Laurent’s relief, gained an expression of recognition. He grabbed Laurent’s waist, pulled him to his chest, and then jumped off of the tree branch. Just when Laurent thought he had made a mistake and trusted a madman, Damen’s hand caught a vine and gripped it tight enough to support their weight. And then he swung, let go, grabbed the next one, until they were travelling across the jungle from the canopy.

When they finally arrived at Laurent’s camp and landed on the ground, Laurent was struck with a sliver of panic. If he left Damen now, he might never find him again. He would disappear and all the questions that Laurent still didn’t know how to ask would never be answered. He didn’t exactly have his home address.

“Will I see you again?” Laurent said. Damen just stared at him without understanding. Unable to wade through a myriad of unsuccessful hand gestures, Laurent simply tore the illustration of his camp out of his journal and handed it to Damen. He pointed to his chest and then back at the paper. 

“Laurent and Damen,” he said, silently praying that Damen would comprehend.

“Laurent and Damen,” Damen repeated back to him. He clutched the paper, stuck it between his teeth, and as Laurent watched, ran off into the jungle. A few moments later, he was visible in the trees, travelling back the way they’d come. And then he was out of sight.

Laurent stuck his journal into his pocket once more and walked towards the fence. He hoped that they would meet again and prove that this wasn’t a dream, though he knew that it would be a lot easier to pretend that it was. 

“Where were you?” Aimeric sniffed upon his arrival. “You went off alone. The professor was afraid you might die.”

“He needn’t fear. I’m alive.”

Aimeric rolled his eyes. “I can see that. What were you  _ doing? _ ” 

Feeling his journal in his pocket, Laurent told the truth.

“I made a new friend.”


	4. babysitter au

Laurent liked to believe that he was quite mature for his age. Miss Vannes told him that he was reading at least five levels above his grade average, and almost every day he got a smiley face drawn in his log book for good work. Principal Guion wanted to place him in a gifted class, his mum said she was proud that he never threw tantrums, and Auguste said that he was smarter than some of his own friends. Mr. Herode had even told his father that he wanted to have Laurent skip a grade. 

So Laurent decided that he was definitely mature enough to get married. 

He just had to tell Damen. 

But that wasn’t going to be a problem, because he knew that Damen was going to say yes. Damen had  _ told  _ Laurent that he liked him; he said that he was his favourite kid to babysit, and he always brought him treats that his mum made. So it was obvious that Damen was going to agree to the marriage. Laurent just had to ask. And he was going to do that tonight.

When he’d told Auguste about his plans, his brother had laughed, saying that little boys couldn’t get married. But Laurent told him that Suzie and Cameron had gotten married on the playground last year - he’d seen it. “That wasn’t real,” Auguste said. “They were playing pretend.” “But there were rings,” Laurent told him. “And when your friends got married, they had rings. And Mama and Papa have rings. That’s what made it real.” Auguste had looked at him, again, like he was saying something funny. But then he agreed to help Laurent get the rings to make his marriage real; they went to the store and bought a whole pack of them so that Damen could choose which one he liked best. 

So, Laurent had the rings and Auguste had already agreed to be his best man. All he needed was for his parents to leave so that Damen could say yes. 

“Thank you again, Damen,” he heard his mum say as she pulled on her jacket. “I’m so glad you’re still willing to babysit now that you’re in high school.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, Mrs. de Vere. Laurent’s a good kid. I’ve never met someone who  _ asks  _ to do my homework.”

“He’s funny like that. We thought he’d have more trouble with Auguste off to college, but he likes you.”

“I like him too.” 

“I’m glad. We’ll only be gone for an hour or two. You know where everything is. See you, dear.”

Laurent heard the door close and ran downstairs, where Damen was putting down his bag. Laurent knew that he should probably act casual, so that Damen could see how cool he was, but he couldn’t help how happy he felt; he practically leaped into his arms from the last step. That was also how he knew Damen liked him; when Laurent hugged Damen, he hugged him back right away.

“Hey bud!” Damen smiled. “I brought you something.” He pulled out a tupperware container from his bag. “My mom made loukoumades.” At Laurent’s expression, he added, “They’re like donuts.”

“We can eat them later,” Laurent said. He had more important things in his schedule.

“Alright,” Damen said. “So what’s the plan for tonight? Do you have homework? No? Okay, do you want to watch a movie?”

Laurent considered that for a moment. He didn’t  _ really  _ want to watch a movie; he wanted to marry Damen. But his mum said that it was rude to start asking things of people right when they walked in the door, because you had to give them time to adjust. Laurent didn’t want to be rude, and he needed time to decide how to bring the subject up, so… 

“Okay. We can watch The Lion King.” 

Damen grinned. “My favourite.”

Laurent smiled. That was why he had picked it. 

Damen told him to go downstairs and start the movie while he made the popcorn. The first song had only just started when Damen came down the steps and pressed a bowl into his hands, settling beside him on the couch. Laurent liked watching The Lion King with Damen, because he knew all the words to the songs, and sang along sometimes. He had a really nice voice. And he always acted really excited during the good scenes, even though Laurent knew that he’d seen it a million times and could probably recite the entire script if he wanted to. 

Laurent snuggled into his side. When they were married, they could watch The Lion King together every day. 

Now, he just had to figure out how to ask.  _ Damen, would you like to watch the Lion King with me every day?  _ He frowned. There was more they could do than that.  _ Damen, would you like to have a super long sleepover? Would you like to share my chess set?  _ How about…  _ Damen, would you-  _

He scrunched his nose up and grabbed the remote, pausing the movie. 

“Will you marry me?” he asked, when Damen turned to him. It was best to go with a classic.

Damen stared at him, giving him a look similar to the one that Auguste had given him; like he was saying something funny. He opened his mouth once, then twice, but no words came out. Laurent hadn’t expected his response to take this long.

“Marry you?” Damen asked.

“Yeah.” Laurent pulled his pack of rings out of his pocket. “I have the rings and everything. You can pick your favourite.”

Damen took the pack from him and studied them, but instead of choosing one like Laurent thought he would, he just stared at them and laughed. Why was he laughing? Laurent watched him, frustrated, and waited for him to calm down. 

“You’re acting stupid,” he said. But that only made Damen laugh again.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Damen gasped, trying to control himself. “That’s really sweet of you. But… Laurent, you know we can’t get married, right?”

Laurent frowned. “Why not? My mum said that two boys can get married.”

“Yes, they can-”

“And I  _ have _ the rings.”

“I can see that, but-”

“So what’s the problem? Do you not want to marry me? I thought you liked me!”

Damen looked at him again, and he wasn’t laughing anymore. His smile was softer, like he felt bad for Laurent, and that only made him feel worse. Damen stopped him from crossing his arms by taking his hands in his own.

“Hey, look at me,” he said quietly. “I  _ do  _ like you. You’re really cool and smart and you’re going to grow up and be amazing. But I don’t like you… like that.”

Laurent pouted. “But Papa said that marriage is when two people want to be together forever and ever. And I want to be with you forever. It would be like a really long sleepover, and we could watch The Lion King and play games on my iPad and eat the treats your mum makes.”

Damen nodded slowly. “And where would we live? Have you thought of that?”

Laurent rolled his eyes. “Of course I’ve thought of that. We would live here, because you told me you want a dog, but your dad is allergic. No one in my family is allergic, so we could get one.”

Damen laughed again. “That’s true. And I would  _ love  _ to have a long sleepover with you, but we still can’t get married. I’m your babysitter. And we would have to be older.”

“I’m almost nine, Damen,” Laurent told him. “And I’m really mature. Miss Vannes says that Principal Guion might put me in a gifted class.”

“Yes, well, I’m fifteen,” Damen said, “and I don’t think I’m ready to get married.”

“Not even if it was fun?”

Damen smiled and wrapped an arm around Laurent’s shoulders, pulling him into a hug. “It’s fun now. We don’t need to get married to spend time together.” He paused for a moment, and said, “Give me those rings.” Laurent grinned and handed him the packet. Damen pulled two of them out.

He handed one to Laurent. “Okay, so you wear this one,” he put a ring on his finger, “and I’ll wear mine, and in ten years, if you still really want to marry me, we can talk about it. Alright?”

Laurent smiled and put on the ring. “Alright.”

Damen grinned. “Good. Now, can we watch the movie again? Because we’re getting to my favourite part.” Laurent laughed as he picked up the remote and pressed play. “They’re  _ all _ your favourite parts,” he said. Then, he felt himself get squeezed into Damen’s side. “You got me there, bud. You got me there.”

As the two of them sat on the couch, their new rings already buttery from the popcorn, Laurent looked up at Damen and thought that he really was the best babysitter in the whole world. And if he wasn’t ready for sleepovers yet, that was okay.

Laurent could wait ten years.


	5. musician AU

Damen had been given a single pair of instructions when Nikandros invited him to his cousin’s engagement party: don’t get embarrassingly wasted, and don’t be a music snob. So far, he had been following both of those rules. The string quartet playing in the background during dinner didn’t make any mistakes; they were well-rehearsed - a little  _ too _ rehearsed, if you asked Damen, but really that was just his personal opinion and not snobbery at all. And he’d been staying well clear of the stronger drinks, keeping to wine only.

That was no fun, but this was  _ Nikandros’s  _ family, not his, so he knew that he didn’t have free reign to make a scene.

So, no scenes, no snobbery and no fun. It wasn’t exactly his choice of party.

“Why am I here?” he leaned over to whisper to Nikandros.

“Because you’re my best friend and my first choice as a plus one.”

“Bullshit.”

Nikandros rolled his eyes, putting down his fork. “Because I am trying to stop you from turning into a hermit.” Damen scoffed. “No, don’t give me that. I’m serious. Ever since you and Jokaste broke up, all you’ve done is mope. You haven’t picked up a guitar in months.”

It was Damen’s turn to roll his eyes. “Have you ever considered the possibility that I just don’t  _ want  _ to pick up a guitar?”

But as Nikandros gave him the infuriating  _ you know I’m right  _ look that he’d perfected in high school, Damen could hear the falseness of his words. He  _ hadn’t  _ picked up a guitar, or drumsticks, or sat down at a piano since his break up. And it wasn’t because he chose not to. It was because, somehow, every beat, pitch and chord had turned sour. It all sounded like her, and the songs he’d written for and performed for her. He just couldn’t shake it. 

The sight of Nikandros’s concerned face was suddenly unbearable. “I’m getting another drink,” he said, and got up before his friend could stop him. Damen headed for the bar and looked for something, anything, that was stronger than wine. Around him, people were drifting over from the dinner table towards the dance floor. The string quartet was packing up and the new performer had arrived to take the late-night shift. Damen probably would have been invited to play if Nikandros hadn’t known about his situation. 

He took a swig of his drink and lingered by the stage. Damen wondered what Jokaste and his brother were doing right now, while he stood there, staring uselessly at a stage and feeling the effects of their actions. Another swig. 

The majority of the guests were milling around the dance floor now, waiting for the music to start.  _ Now would be a great time to get up there, _ he thought to himself, looking at the performer. But he was on his phone. Damen had to remind himself not to be a snob.

“There you are!” He heard Nikandros’s voice first, and then felt him grab his shoulders. Without even turning to him, he knew that his friend was eyeing his drink in disapproval. 

“Damen-” he began, but Damen cut him off.

“It’s one drink.”

“Plus how many glasses of wine? You’re swaying.”

“Hardly. I assure you, my tolerance has only gone  _ up  _ since Jokaste left.” Too many nights of drinking his feelings away had made sure of that. But Nikandros wasn’t convinced. 

He sighed. “Have you seen the singer? I’ve been looking for him everywhere, people want to dance.”

Damen  _ had _ seen the singer, he saw him right now, conveniently hidden behind a potted plant. But he didn’t tell Nikandros that. Given the choice between babysitting his questionably-sober friend and keeping the party going before his aunt Cassandra got rowdy, Damen knew that Nikandros would be forced to leave him in search of the singer. He was right, because after another one of his famous sighs, Nikandros was on his way.

Which left Damen alone, standing just a few feet away from the wanted man.

“Are you kidding me?” he was saying into his phone. “Auguste, tu m’as dit que ton ami arriverait. Non, je ne veux pas des excuses. J’ai besoin d’un-” 

_ French,  _ Damen thought, and listened in. 

“ _ Whatever, Auguste.  Yes, I know you tried to get a replacement. I’m not mad because you can’t play piano for me, though that would obviously have been ideal. I’m mad because Orlant couldn’t have even told me  _ himself  _ that he wasn’t going to show up. I’m finding out from you, while I’m already here.” _

There was a pause, as the man listened to Auguste. “ _ Please don’t ‘Laurent’ me. I’m… I’m hiding behind a shrub for god’s sake.” _ Damen stifled a laugh at his tone. “ _ I hate tracks. I’ll sing it acapella. Yes. I love you. Goodbye.” _

Damen watched as Laurent took a moment to himself to breathe and summon the courage to go through with a change of plans. Damen felt for him; such was the pain of live performance; you had to roll with the punches. Laurent finally left his spot behind the potted plant and marched up to the stage, taking his place in front of the mic to introduce himself. Across the room, Damen saw Nikandros gesturing for him to join him, visibly relieved. 

“I almost thought he wasn’t going to show,” Nik said. 

“He showed.”

“I can see that. Wasn’t there supposed to be a… Where’s the accompanist?”

“They bailed.”

“Did you talk to him?” Nik asked, giving him a questioning look.

Damen scratched his head. “No… not exactly.”

He turned back to the stage, where Laurent was giving his intro spiel. He was covering it well, but years of performing in front of strangers had given Damen the ability to sense nerves on other people, and Laurent was definitely nervous. Singing without an accompanist would leave him exposed, the attention drawn to every pitch and vibrato that came out of his mouth. He would have more freedom with tempo, but no music to fall back on, and nothing to cover up any of his imperfections. He would be completely on display.

Damen didn’t know exactly what made his mind up; if it was the alcohol influencing his decisions or his empathy for the abandoned singer or if he wanted to prove a point to Nikandros, but Damen found himself heading straight for the stage, ignoring his friend’s questions. 

Laurent gawked at him when he climbed up. “What are you-” He gave a ‘just one second’ gesture to the crowd and backed Damen up towards the other side of the stage, away from the mic. 

“What are you doing up here?” he demanded harshly. Damen could tell he was only adding another hurdle to this man’s course, shaking him up even more. 

“You need an accompanist. I’m Damen.”

Laurent gawked at him. “Are you drunk?”

Damen, against his will, laughed. “That’s up for debate. Do you have sheet music?” 

Laurent blinked, his mouth still hanging open. There was a moment where it seemed like neither of them knew what Laurent was going to do next, but then he clearly decided that this performance couldn’t possibly get  _ worse _ and produced a book from a bag at the edge of the stage. “Page fourteen,” he said incredulously, and wandered back to the microphone. 

Damen plopped down at the piano and stretched his fingers, turning the pages and analysing the tempo and key signature, getting a feel for the important rhythms and chords. He would be sight-reading this, but at least it was a song that he knew. Laurent gave him a look like ‘you better not make me seem like an idiot’ and Damen started playing.

The first thing he noticed was that the arrangement was good and it came to him easily, allowing him to disguise his lack of rehearsal. The second thing he noticed was that Laurent had the voice of an angel. As he sang about men playing piano and bartenders dreaming of hollywood, Damen’s breath was taken away. There was emotion there that he had never heard in the original recording, and it was all Damen could do to play accompaniment with the same feeling, to do Laurent justice. 

He had accompanied people before, but never like this. Not while getting so caught up in the skill of the singer, not with a piece he’d never studied, not feeling the rush of rediscovering himself. He didn’t have time to think of Jokaste. All he could see was Laurent standing in front of him, pouring every inch of himself into the piece, and turning the classic into his own. It excited Damen. He concentrated that passion into his fingers on the keyboard.

Eventually, the song finished, but before he could get up, the crowd started cheering. His eyes found Nikandros, who was grinning, glowing with pride. Laurent turned to him, and they agreed upon something silently. Whatever connection Damen was feeling, Laurent was feeling it too. Laurent named a page number, and Damen flipped to it. They performed it with the same gusto, Damen following Laurent’s lead and Laurent using his music to turn the piece into something beautiful. Everywhere, Nikandros’s family was dancing. Still, Damen thought it was impossible for them to be enjoying themselves more than he was.

He had found his music again.

The two of them went through each piece in Laurent’s book. And then came the requests - drunken cousins demanding songs on a whim. At first, he thought that Laurent was going to turn them down, but he simply pulled out his phone and asked Damen if he could do something with the chords. He could. Their lack of preparation meant nothing; they found a rhythm, they improvised, they pushed and pulled until it was  _ theirs.  _

When the night was over and Nikandros thanked Laurent for his time - looking at Damen while he said it - Damen almost refused to leave the stage. His fingers felt like they’d been been trampled and his eyes were dry from the overhead lights, but he didn’t want it to be over. He wanted to feel like that forever. But it was one in the morning and half the guests had already left. 

So he clapped his best friend on the shoulder, knowing that there was going to be a conversation with him later, and headed to the coatroom to find his jacket. 

It didn’t take long. A good chunk of the people at the party had come sporting leather jackets, but none of them were near his size. He sighed, pulling it on. And then he gasped, because Laurent was there, staring at him with those piercing blue eyes.

“Thank you,” he said after a moment.

Damen smiled. “It was no problem. Live performance, eh? Gotta roll with the punches.”

Laurent slipped his hands into his pockets. “No, I mean… I’ve never sounded that good. Ever.”

Damen looked at him. “Me neither. I think that was the best I’ve ever played. If I’m being honest with you, I never thought I was going to play again. I’ve been in a slump for months.”

“You don’t show it.”

“I think it’s over.”

Laurent smiled, a shy thing that was probably the most beautiful sight Damen had ever witnessed. “Well, if you need the incentive to keep playing, there’s an open mic next week that my brother is planning. I’ll be there. We could perform together, if you’d like.”

Damen grinned. “I’d like that. A lot.”

Laurent nodded, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket and handing it to him. “That’s my number. You can text me for details, or…”

“Or?”

Laurent’s smile became a little less shy. “Don’t be a stranger.” He raised a hand in farewell and walked out of coatroom, leaving Damen alone in the tiny space.

Damen looked down at the miniscule slip of paper, and, without even realizing it, began composing a new song


	6. Valentine's Day AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this went from a Valentine's Day prompt to a mix of a summer camp au and a post breakup au, with some Valentine's Day thrown in. Please enjoy.
> 
> Context: Damen lived in another state but he and Laurent went to the same fancy shmancy leadership camp. But now, Damen's father owns a company business and Damen (in)conveniently got transferred to a different branch in the same place Laurent lives. We can blame it on Kastor. Everything's easier if you blame it on Kastor.

The issue with going somewhere with Auguste was that no matter where you went, who else you were with, why and when you were there, you would run into someone that he knew. It was Auguste’s blessing and Laurent’s curse that he was so popular. Somehow, without fail, the two of them would never be able to make it two steps before being pulled aside by Auguste’s college roommate, or his classmate from kindergarten, or the friend of the mother of the girl whose birthday party he once attended. It would have been insane if Laurent didn’t understand just how much people were drawn to his brother’s charisma. But he did understand, and he loved his brother, so he always stood by and chatted when the curse - inevitably - did its work.

Except for this time.

Because this time, Auguste’s curse had gone and apparated not someone that  _ Auguste  _ knew, but someone that  _ Laurent  _ knew. Someone that he never in his wildest dreams thought he would see again. Someone that made him duck and hide behind his brother like a schoolchild.

“Damen,” he breathed.

Auguste looked at him clutching his arm. “Who’s Damen?” he asked.

“No one.”

“ _ No one  _ wouldn’t make you act this way, little brother.” And then Auguste was laughing, because Laurent looked like an idiot and he had no clue. 

Peeking out from behind him, Laurent spotted Damen across the room, hanging out by the punchbowl with two other guys. How long had it been since they last saw each other? Five years? Six? He’d grown up since then; his mass of dark locks was tidier, and he’d filled into his height, all bulk and muscle. Laurent felt his face heat up. He hadn’t thought it was possible for Damen to get more attractive. 

“I’m not saying I brought you to a Valentine’s Day party to get a date,” Auguste said, “but it looks like you should go and see if he’s here with someone.”

“I’m sure he’s here with someone.” It was  _ Damen. _

“Well, it’s obvious that you know each other, you might as well say hi.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Because you have a crush?”

“No!” Laurent hissed. His face was hopelessly red, and he wanted nothing more than to run and hide. “We had… a thing.”

“A thing?” 

“A thing as in… that’s the guy I lost my virginity to at summer camp when I was seventeen.”

The words came out in a jumbled rush as Laurent watched a reaction appear on Auguste’s face. It was shock at first, and then confusion, then hurt, because the two of them told eachother  _ everything _ , and Laurent had never even  _ mentioned _ this. For all Auguste had known, Laurent was still a virgin, and his face couldn’t hide the fact that he was reeling. Laurent winced a little bit and tugged on Auguste’s arm. “Can we just get out of here? I’ll be fine if I never see him again.”

He’d meant it as a way to separate himself from the situation, to deal with the fallout in private, but the second the words were out of his mouth, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Because Auguste, heroic and straightforward Auguste, could only take that to mean one thing. 

“Did he hurt you?” Auguste demanded. “Is that why you didn’t tell me?”

“No!” Laurent said. But it was too late. Auguste was already parting the crowds, marching straight towards Damen. Laurent stood still for a moment and bristled at the  _ damn curse, _ before making a beeline after his brother. 

The good news was that he made it to Damen before Auguste did. The bad news was that, in order to get in between them, he ended up crashing into Damen’s chest. All hopes of making it out of there unscathed flew out the window. Quickly, before any more damage was done, he held up a hand to stop his brother from starting something wretched. But there was no getting away from-

“Oomph!” Damen grunted, the wind knocked out of him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you th-” And then it was Laurent’s turn to feel breathless, because Damen’s arms were helping him to stand up straight and he looked right at him and-  _ “Laurent?” _

_ A thing _ , Laurent thought to himself.

_ A thing _ , as in they met at summer camp.  _ A thing _ , as in they shared a cabin, as in Laurent fell in love with him, and then fell into bed with him, and then fell into bed with him again and again over the course of the summer.  _ A thing,  _ in the space of two months.

Until the summer ended and Laurent chickened out. Until Damen tried to keep in touch and Laurent never responded. 

‘Did he hurt you?’  _ No. But I hurt him. _

“Hi,” he said. 

Damen gawked at him, disbelief present throughout all the other emotions that flashed onto his face. He laughed a little and spread his hands, gesturing to Laurent. “Oh my god,” he said. “Wow. I can’t believe it’s you…” He ran a hand through his hair. “You - you look good.”

Laurent nodded awkwardly. “You do too.”  _ You look really good. _

“How long has it been?” Damen asked. His eyes were still wide, trying to process the fact that they were standing in front of each other after so long. For all that Laurent was struggling, he couldn’t even imagine what Damen was feeling - Laurent had made it abundantly clear that they would never see each other again.

“Six years.”

“It’s, um, been a while then.”

“It has.”

Several different urges combatted in Laurent’s mind. There had been times when he allowed himself to regret his actions, to imagine what he would do if he and Damen ever crossed paths again. But it was a fantasy, a coping mechanism, and he had never believed that he would be given that chance - but he was being given it now, and he had no clue what to do.

Part of him wanted to run away and pretend that it had never happened. He wanted to get far, far away from the emotions that Damen stirred in him; guilt, passion, nostalgia, regret. What he had felt for Damen in those two months had terrified him so thoroughly that when the summer was over he shut everything down in an attempt to protect himself. But all it did was leave a wound. Six years, and he’d thought he was free of it. But Damen’s warm eyes were on his now, and he knew that it hadn’t disappeared; it had never even closed. He wanted to wrap himself up in Damen’s arms, kiss him, beg his forgiveness.

Instead he motioned for Auguste to step forward, so that he wouldn’t be alone.

_ I’m such a coward, _ he thought.

“Auguste,” he smiled. “This is Damen. We went to summer camp together.”

“I heard,” Auguste said, crossing his arms.

Damen winced, his face turning red. “He told me a lot about you.”

The conversation was painful; Damen tried to find middle ground with Auguste, and Auguste, still thinking that it was  _ Damen  _ who was the perpetrator here, kept shutting him down. And then there was Laurent, whose chest felt like it was about to explode each time Damen glanced his way. Everything hurt, because he was facing the man who would have given him everything he had ever wanted, and it was him who had walked away.

But how was he supposed to have known, at seventeen, just how miserable he’d be? All he’d known was that he couldn’t control himself when Damen was with him. His mouth spoke about forever like he knew what that meant, his body opened itself like boundaries didn’t exist, his heart felt like it would implode from the emotion inside it. The sensation was beautiful by the lake, where nothing but the camp counsellors could reach them, but beyond that? Laurent was only on the brink of starting college, for god’s sake. Across the country from each other, were they supposed to try? 

At seventeen, Laurent had told himself no. Love would come around again, easier and more convenient than Damen. Each time his computer displayed a message, and each time Laurent ignored it, he’d told himself that it would be pointless to try. 

But Damen had tried. Damen had always been stronger.

“I came here with my buddies,” Damen was saying. “Pallas is the DJ. Or at least he thinks he is. I think he’s only here because his crush is hosting.”

“Lazar? We’re here because of him, too. He said that he had a band showing up later.”

Damen nodded. “Around now, actually. Which means that…” he looked towards the guys he was talking to before, “I should probably be going.”

“You’re leaving?” Laurent spluttered.

Damen sent him a look, long and guarded. “Yeah,” he said quietly. And then a few moments later, “It’s been good seeing you, Laurent.”

Damen was only two steps away before Auguste was standing in front of him again. “I could have punched him, you know. I don’t know why you stopped me, I could take him.” Laurent said nothing; his eyes were trying to see around his brother’s shoulders. “If he hurt you, he’d deserve it.” Silence. “Let’s just go home.”

“No,” Laurent said with a conviction that surprised him. “You’re wrong about him. He didn’t do anything to me.” Finally, Laurent spotted a head of dark curls. “I’m going after him.”

Before Auguste could say anything, Laurent was shoving past him, shoving past anyone that got in between him and Damen. He’d been an idiot, yes, but he’d be ten times the idiot now if he didn’t use this opportunity to try and fix it; he’d lost that brilliant, wonderful man once, and Laurent wasn’t going to let him slip away again. He could live with being rejected - he deserved it. But he would never be able to live with himself if he didn’t at least try.

He probably looked like a madman, but he didn’t care; he grabbed a fistful of Damen’s shirt and tugged, pulling him to a halt.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded.

Damen blinked at him. “I’m carpooling.”

“I will give you a fucking ride home, but please don’t go.” He sucked in a breath and hated how ragged it sounded. “I’d never forgive myself if I never saw you again.”

Damen stared at him for a while, his expression honest and wary, before waving off his friends in the distance. “Laurent… I thought that you  _ didn’t  _ ever want to see me again. It took me a while to accept, and it hurt like hell, but… whatever it is that you’re doing, if it’s pity, I don’t want it.”

Laurent hated himself for this. He hated that Damen stood in front of him guarded and wrecked, when every other side of him was as bright and open as the sun. He hated that he’d caused it. He hated the fact that he couldn’t let it go, couldn’t get rid of the memory of Damen laughing as he carried Laurent over his shoulder, or the way his eyes grew somber when he spoke of his mother or his grin when he showed off at sports. He hated how in two months, Damen had changed him. And most of all, he hated the desperation that was currently eating at his heart.

But he was done shying away from it. Laurent was done being a coward.

So he spoke.

“If you think that I didn’t respond to you because I didn’t love you, you’re wrong. I never wrote back because I was terrified of you.”

“Of me?”

“Of us. Of how I felt. Damen, I fell in love with you the minute you fought with Govart for being an asshole. And every time you smiled at me and stayed up till three in the morning with me to find constellations, it got stronger. By the time we kissed after the canoe race, I was crazy about you, and once we started sleeping together I was seconds away from downright asking you to marry me. I’d never felt that way. I’ve never felt that way since. Everything was just too much, I  _ wanted  _ it too much, I felt like I needed you, and that terrified me.”

Damen stepped closer. “I felt that way too. It wasn’t just you.”

“I know that!” Laurent said. “If there was one thing I knew, it was that you’d never hurt me. But I couldn’t trust myself to be with you, so I ended up hurting us both.” He put a hand on Damen’s bicep and felt him shiver. “I’m so sorry.”

“Laurent,” Damen said in a low voice. Their eyes were locked on each other’s. They were drowning in lake Delpha. “What’s happening right now? I can’t do a blast from the past, not if it’s just going to end again. I’m not strong enough-”

“I don’t want that,” Laurent rasped, and it was the most honest thing he’d ever said. “I want this.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” 

“I’m still in love with you.”

And then Laurent was grabbing at Damen’s shirt, pulling him down into a kiss. Instinctively, Damen’s fingers sought after his hair, tangling in the locks and brushing his jaw. Laurent let his chin be tipped up and opened his mouth, deepening the kiss. The feeling of their lips smashing against each other and the slide of their tongues together was so familiar that Laurent felt heady. He’d forgotten how good Damen was at kissing. One kiss turned into another and another and another, and he decided that he didn’t need air, he could live off of this flood of desperation and  _ finally  _ forever. 

In the background, someone yelled, “Get a room!” and Damen broke off to laugh. Laurent loved his laugh. 

“I’d say that wouldn’t be such a bad idea,” Damen murmured into his ear, “but I’d really like to take this slow. Is that okay?”

_ That’s very, very much okay.  _ “Can I give you my number?”

Damen nodded, and handed his phone to Laurent, who hastily punched the digits into a new contact. Damen did the same for Laurent. 

His phone back in his hand, Laurent laughed a little. Auguste was texting him, fretting as usual. 

“Did you need that ride?” Laurent asked, and Damen shook his head, waving his own phone. “Pallas took forever to pack up his stuff. They’re still in the lot. But I have to be there in, like, thirty seconds or they’re driving away.”

“You should go, then.”

“I really should.” Damen kissed him again.

Laurent hummed happily, but he knew that if they stayed like this any longer, it would heat up and Damen would miss his deadline. Grinning, he shoved him away lightly. “Get out of here, you brute.”

“I’ll call you,” Damen told him as he let go.

“And I’ll pick up.”

By the time Auguste found him, Laurent had fixed his hair and patted down his clothes, but the smile was still on his face. It took the walk to the car to assure his brother that Damen did not need to be challenged to a duel for his honour. It took the entire ride home to give him a brief, watered down explanation of their history. Beyond that, it took several more assurances that Laurent would give him the longer, more detailed story in the morning, and only then was Laurent able to sneak off to bed.

When he flopped down onto his mattress and sighed into his pillow, Laurent decided two things. The first was that Valentine’s Day was officially his favourite holiday. And the second was that Auguste’s curse… might just have been a blessing.

***

At 3:32am, he received a call from  **Giant Animal <3** .

Laurent answered right away.


	7. The Devil Wears Prada AU

“Please tell me you didn’t do it,” Nikandros said as soon as Damen picked up the phone. Instinctively, Damen looked around, as though he were going to find Nikandros staring at him in disapproval from across the street. Or behind him. Or perching from one of the buildings like a gargoyle. 

“I only did it because of you, you know,” Damen told him.

“You did this because of me,” Nikandros repeated. “I was the one who  _ told you _ this was going to happen. Kastor has been jealous of you for years. It was only a matter of time before he made a grab for your position. That’s why he-”

“Why he told our father that I was burnt out and needed vacation time? Why he’s helpfully filling in for me during my forced sabbatical?”

“Yes.” It was exactly what Nikandros had said, though not with those specific details. Nikandros, who knew everything, had told Damen that his brother would jump at the opportunity to show their father he was capable of being CEO. Damen just hadn’t listened. But now Kastor was sitting at the Editor-In-Chief’s desk - his desk - and he’d decided to start paying attention.

“Which is why I’m not going to sit down and be useless while the company prepares for its biggest deal in years.”

“So, you’ve applied at  _ Vere?” _

Damen rolled his eyes at Nikandros’s horrified tone. “We’re going to work with them on the Delpha line. I might as well prove that I have the skills required.”

“But you know nothing about fashion.”

“It’s  _ fashion _ . What is there to know? Don’t wear a brown belt with black shoes, spray tans are for idiots, Coco Chanel is a goddess. There, you’re hired.”

Nikandros paused on the other side of the line. “I don’t like this,” he said. 

“Well, you’re going to have to like it,” Damen told him. “Because I’m here.” He hung up and made his way through the door. 

The first thing Damen noticed as a secretary led him up to the higher floors was that the employees milling around Vere Magazine were all dressed like models. Maybe some of them  _ were _ models. Still, as Damen compared his button-down to the man wearing eyeliner, he felt extremely underdressed, though his attire was perfectly suitable at Ios. 

The secretary showing him the way stopped in front of a door. Opening it carefully, she spoke to the man sitting inside the office. “The slave labour’s here.” And then she left.

The man inside stood up and walked over to Damen; as he got closer, Damen realized that he could hardly be called a man at all - he couldn’t be older than twenty. His eyes scanned the man’s excessive outfit before coming up to his face, and realizing that he was being appraised in return. He felt exposed, like an animal being evaluated at the farmer’s market.

“You’re Damianos,” the man said. 

“Please, call me Damen-”

“I don’t care,” the man cut him off. “I’m Nicaise and you’re the new me.” Nicaise started walking forward, out of the office, making Damen follow him awkwardly. “The first thing you need to know is that you don’t matter. A million people would kill for your job and while I don’t know why  _ you,”  _ his eyes swept over Damen’s body again, “got it, you need to work for it.”

“I understand-”

“Don’t speak while I’m speaking.  _ I  _ am Laurent’s first assistant, which means that I take home the book, organize his schedule and attend benefits with him.  _ You  _ are the second assistant, which means that you answer the phone and do…” Nicaise let out a series of breathy laughs, “well, it’s basically slave labour.”

Damen frowned. “I think you’ve got the wrong person. I applied to be a consultant, not an  _ assistant.” _

Nicaise arched a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow. “You thought you were going to be a  _ consultant  _ to Laurent de Vere.”

“Well, yes.” Damen was entirely qualified. He’d sent in a resume full of stellar references and accomplishments. Sure, he didn’t know much about fashion, but he was willing to learn, and he had a lot to offer in suggestions about audience and trends. That was what he’d put in his cover letter. And that was what he’d come here to do when he’d gotten an email in response, offering him a job as an aide.

But when he told Nicaise this, all he got back was a disdainful look. “You do realized that  _ aide _ is just a prettier term for assistant? You accepted the job, the job is yours, and now you can fetch coffee.”

It felt like someone had just removed the ground from under his feet. He wanted to press the subject, to argue, to get some clarification as to why  _ Damianos Akielos of Ios Magazine  _ had been offered a position as an  _ assistant. _ But Nicaise was walking again, leading him around the floor, and he felt powerless to do anything but follow him.

“That’s Orlant, he runs the editorials. Lazar does the layout. Vannes consults with the designers. Over there is Jord - he oversees the photoshoots - and no surprise, there’s Aimeric, the model who follows him around like a puppy.” Nicaise turned to him. “It’s disgusting. I was a model with him. We don’t talk, of course, they’ve all been jealous of me since I was promoted.”

Nicaise leaned closer to Damen, as though telling him an important secret. “I doubt I’ll even be working with you much longer. I have a… contact in corporate, who wants to offer me a job as his personal secretary. I’m only here because he still has to find a way to get rid of his current one. He’s nice like that.”

“For firing his secretary?” Damen frowned. 

Nicaise rolled his eyes. “For waiting until the right time. She’s so old, it’s time for her to go anyway.”

“How old is she? Sixty?”

“Thirty nine.” Nicaise laughed again. “And let me tell you, time has  _ not  _ been kind to her. I saw a wrinkle yesterday.”

Damen was beginning to understand that Nikandros might have been right again. 

A beep came from Nicaise’s pocket. Damen watched as he pulled out a pager and whispered, “Shit,” before whipping out his phone and typing something quickly. That action seemed to spur the rest of the floor into motion; Aimeric yelped and fled from Jord’s desk, as Jord switched his jacket for one that seemed infinitely less comfortable. The people milling around the offices were now filled with purpose, grabbing papers, delivering folders, practically sprinting as they moved from one place to another.

Damen barely had time to ask, “What the hell is happening?”before Nicaise grabbed his arm and started pulling him back to the office they had come from. “What’s gotten into them?”

Nicaise ignored him, directing him over to a desk across from his own, as he fled into the adjacent office. Through the glass wall, Damen could see him spreading a selection of magazines along the top of the darkwood desk. He came back and stood in front of his own workplace like a soldier. 

“That,” Nicaise said, “means that the ice cube is on his way.”

And that was when Laurent de Vere walked in.


	8. Titanic AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean I've had this up on my tumblr for months and haven't posted it here until now? Pffft.

Laurent wasn’t proud to admit that his last thought was probably going to be  _ I went and fell in love like an idiot, and now I’m going to die.  _ It wasn’t his smartest choice, but if he was honest, today was a day for idiots. The captain had been an idiot when he left two bozos in charge of the lookout post. Said bozos were probably drunk off their asses and stupid enough to steer the side of the boat into an iceberg. Jord was stupid enough to lose his room to Damen in a bet, Damen was stupid enough to accept a second class ticket when Laurent  _ knew  _ he was old money, and Laurent… Laurent was stupid enough to go looking for the damn oaf while the ship continued to sink.

If Laurent didn’t have blond hair and Damen didn’t have a smile as warm as the sun, he would never have even  _ been  _ in this situation. He would have been in a lifeboat by now, trading his stack of money for a coveted seat and leaving this dreadful mess behind.

But Laurent’s plans weren’t exactly being respected.

“Damen!” he yelled.

_ Think, _ he told himself.  _ The corridor beneath you is flooded, the one above you is full of people, the deck is chaos and the corridor to your left could blow any second. Think. _

But he couldn’t think. All he could do was run around in circles, only half aware of his position, looking for one man amidst thousands.

“Damen!” he screamed again. His hair was damp and the floor underneath him was leaking.  _ Think. Where is he? _

He could hear the rush of water invading corridor after corridor, deck by deck, taking the lives of hundreds of people. Damen could already be dead by now. He could be drowned, trapped in a room without air, underneath feet of water. Laurent could feel panic closing up his throat. He kept running. And then he realized his mistake; he should have turned right. The door behind him was shaking, water streaming out from underneath it. He was barely aware of a boy wailing at the end of the hallway, lost and afraid.  _ Nicaise,  _ Laurent thought painfully.

The door rattled in its hinge, about to burst and flood the corridor in which he stood.  _ I went and fell in love like an idiot and now I’m going to die. _

Right before water came crashing over him, a pair of hands grabbed his shirt and yanked him sideways.

***

_ “I was supposed to go on this cruise with a friend,” Laurent said sourly. _

_ The man straightened the cuffs of his jacket and looked up at him, not even bothering to feign an apology. “He was the one who put up his ticket as collateral.”  _

_ “Upon my request.” _

_ “That’s your fault then.” _

_ “You won’t let me buy it back from you.” _

_ “No, I won’t. I have my own reasons for wanting to get on this boat. And I’m afraid I won’t be swayed by a man in a fancy silk jacket who puts on a pout when his money won’t get him places.” _

_ “My money could get me better company than you, sweetheart.” _

_ “I’d wager your money is the  _ only  _ thing that could get you company.” The man placed a hand on the wall beside Laurent’s head and leaned in close enough to whisper.  _ “Sweetheart.”

***

It took Laurent a moment to realize exactly what had happened. His life had been saved by - 

“D - Damen?” he stammered, a flood of relief taking hold of his body.

Damen’s hand was clutching the fabric of his shirt, pinning him against the wall. He was completely soaked, his clothes and his hair dripping water, but Laurent didn’t care. He was still woozy with the rush of almost dying, mixed with the relief of finding Damen - or being found - and he pulled him close to his chest. Damen tucked his chin into the curve of Laurent’s neck. For a moment, they simply breathed each other in.

“I thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” Damen gasped as he let go.

“I couldn’t leave you here.”

“You have to go on deck. You can still get a boat.”

Water was rising to their knees now, coming around the corner that Damen had pulled him into.

“Not without you,” he said firmly. He wasn’t leaving this hellhole without Damen. It wasn’t even an option.

Damen looked away, resigning himself to Laurent’s stubbornness. They didn’t have time to argue. They didn’t have time to bicker, the way they had for the past few days, or to find the middle ground, the way they had also done. They didn’t even have time to debate Damen’s cursed nobility. Laurent forced eye contact between them and felt the silent battle of will that took place. It would be harder to get two people through the chaos, he knew. But he also knew that he would break bones and mend hulls to keep this blasted man at his side. 

He knew the moment when Damen caved.

Forcefully, Damen grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward, wading through the water at the fastest pace they could manage. 

“You might just have to carry me,” Laurent teased.

He knew it wasn’t a time for dry humor, but he still wasn’t expecting Damen’s look of consideration. “That might work, actually,” he said seriously.

He pulled Laurent onto his back.

***

_ Laurent’s back was pressed up against the wall, and he was breathing hard.  _

_ “I think we lost them,” he panted. _

_ He turned his head and saw that Damen was grinning, also coming down from the rush of adrenaline and exertion that came after a chase. The two of them had just managed to escape three stewards, a maid, some poor man’s butler and a man who looked like he’d started running after them just for the hell of it. After a moment, Laurent realized that he was smiling. _

_ “Do you want to tell me what that was about?”  Damen asked. “Since I’ve only known you for a day and I’ve already hurdled a luggage cart for your sake.” _

_ “I miscalculated. I didn’t think it would be that hard to get into a man’s room unnoticed.” _

_ “What for?” _

_ “To grab this.” He lifted up the signet ring that he had nabbed from Guion’s desk. “And to plant a similar one in its place.” _

_ Damen frowned a little. “You didn’t have time. How are you going to get it there now, with all the attention?” _

_ Laurent shrugged. “It’s no matter. The replica was just to unnerve him. What I really wanted to do was put a necklace in his pocket… and I did that at tea.” _

_ Damen was facing him now, his expression open and dumbfounded. “Then what…” He gestured around them. “What was all of that for?” _

_ “I think Guion will be asking himself that very same question.” _

_ *** _

Like Laurent had already predicted, the upper deck was chaos. Everywhere, people were screaming and shoving and wailing. He’d spotted more than one body dead, and not from drowning. He was no longer on Damen’s back, the way he had been carried up the separate flights of stairs, and was now finding it harder to stay with him. Their hands were grasping each other tightly, but Laurent still feared a mass of deserters breaking them up, of being trampled, of being forced away from each other and getting lost in the crowd. 

The fact that Laurent was upper class meant that he had a better chance of finding a lifeboat to take him, but he still wasn’t a woman or a child. He could only hope that a boat was taking men.

“I can’t see!” he shouted to Damen. 

“There’s… there’s one ahead!” Damen shouted back to him. He stuck out a hand and used his size to create a path amongst the crowd around them. Laurent still couldn’t see past Damen’s shoulders. 

***

_ There was something off about Damen, Laurent thought. Every man and woman on this boat, no matter how complex they considered themself, fell comfortably within his algorithm of social interaction. Damen was different. Every time they happened upon each other, Laurent found himself lingering on what each of them had said and done as though it was a puzzle to be solved. _

_ Perhaps that was what drew them together like magnets. He had become, within two days, far too aware of everyone’s heights and skin tone, unconsciously seeking Damen out. He didn’t have to do that too often now. Despite their class difference, they always seemed to find themselves together. _

_ Damen wasn’t dressed like a man of first class, but he carried himself like one. He spoke like one. He looked Laurent in the eye and conversed with him as though daring him to take offense at the insolence.  _

Wealth would suit him nicely,  _ Laurent thought.  _ But perhaps it already does.

“ _ I’m expected to marry a woman soon,” he said to his new companion. “My brother arranged this trip for me. To… experiment.” _

_ “Are you not pleased with that?” Damen asked. His hand ran over the wood of Laurent’s dresser. His size made the various objects look like children’s toys. _

_ “I don’t wish to marry,” he said quietly.  _

_ Damen looked up, hearing the meaning that Laurent had not yet acknowledged.  _

_ “At all?” His eyes seemed as though they were penetrating all of Laurent’s walls. This was how it was between the two of them: an addictive, constant search for truth. _

_ Laurent bit his lip. “I don’t… I don’t wish to marry a woman.” _

_ “A woman,” Damen repeated. The air between them felt thick with everything that Laurent did not know how to ask for, had been trained never to speak of. He was waiting for the dismissal. He was waiting for the quick change of subject, the rush to salvage what was on the brink of being destroyed. This was how it was at home.  _

_ It was not how it was with Damen. _

_ Laurent discovered that upon the first meeting of their lips. _

_ *** _

Finally, they made it to a lifeboat manned by a butler that Laurent recognized. He had a greedy face, and Laurent could tell from a single glance that this man, with his clear escape in sight, didn’t care about the tragedy of the Titanic. He was making a pretty penny by taking charge of this boat. Laurent thrust his stack of money into his hands; he would have expressed much more disdain if he wasn’t currently taking advantage of that very greed.

Damen grabbed him by the waist and solemnly lowered him onto the boat. Then he turned to the butler and exchanged a few words. 

Laurent watched as Damen lowered the butler onto the boat after him.

Something was wrong.

“Damen, get down here,” he demanded, having to raise his voice to be heard across the distance.

Damen looked at him. “There’s not enough room.”

“What?” Laurent blinked. “This boat fits forty people.” There were no more than thirty men with him. 

The butler turned to him, his seedy face reeking of false apology. “I’m sorry, sir, but one must take into account his… size. I fear it will be too much.  We must think of the other men aboard.”

“The other men?” Laurent snapped. “You mean to tell me that the  _ other men _ \- who are on this boat illegally - are afraid of one man weighing as much as ten? As though his height is more responsible for weight than the tubs of pudding that half this boat has too thoroughly enjoyed?” He was shaking with fury as he stared the man down.

“No,” he said, and extended a hand to Damen. “I’m not going without you. Let me off this boat. We’ll find another.”

Damen’s expression had only grown more grim. He sported the look of a resolved martyr, too noble for his own good. Sitting in the hold of the lifeboat, Laurent hated him for it, because he knew exactly what Damen was about to do.

He knew it even before Damen apologised, tears barely visible on his cheeks, and started the descent of the boat. He knew it as he screamed at him, begged him, told him that he  _ knew who he was damn it and he could afford to bribe the wretched butler.  _ He watched as the name  _ Damianos Akielos  _ hit home and knew that it changed nothing. Damen was still getting smaller. He reached for the railing of the closest floor, missed, and he screamed again at his lover, thrashing helplessly in the restraining arms of the butler.

He knew the moment he could no longer see Damen’s face that it was over. The feeling that came afterwards, when the boat hit the water, was only dull resignation. The ocean was nothing compared to the battle that had already taken place.

For a moment, he considered jumping off and swimming back. It was a stupid, pointless thought. The water was too cold and he’d never find Damen again. He would die before even reaching the ship. Damen had given him this chance, to go home, to see his brother, to survive, and he wasn’t going to waste it on a fit of defiance.

But that didn’t mean he was ever going to forget the sight of Damen standing above him, a vision of infuriating heroism as he accepted his own fate.

Surrounded by strangers, with the tragedy of the Titanic growing further and further away, Laurent felt the first tear roll down his face.

They had called it the ship of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorrrryyyyyy


	9. monster under the bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow a chapter without lamen! it's got smaurent though, so i hope you all like it!

When he was older, Laurent would come to understand that there had never been any monster inside of his rooms. The winter in Arles was known for bringing about gusts of wind at night, which, upon reaching the palace, turned into howls. It was wind, Laurent would one day understand. Entirely logical.

But when Laurent was young, logic had not yet taken complete root inside of him. He heard howling, he was scared, and he thought as any child would; there was a monster inside of his rooms.

At night, he dreamt it hovered over him with large teeth and shadows for a body. He bargained with himself; if he stayed completely under the covers, it could not get to him. But then a breeze passed over his sheets and suddenly his wardrobe was the beast’s home and knew if he stayed any longer it would reach him.

Laurent shrieked and ran out of the room, his feet taking him to the place he would be safe.

“Auguste?” he whimpered, clutching at his brother’s bed. 

Auguste stirred, mumbling something unintelligible. Laurent poked him until his eyes opened.

“Laurent?” Auguste said groggily. “What are you doing here?”

“There’s a monster in my room,” he whispered. “Can I sleep here tonight?” 

Auguste swiped a hand over his face and looked at Laurent, considering him. A sleepy smile washed over his face and he nodded, helping Laurent up onto the mattress. “Sure thing,” he said. “What’s mine is yours, little brother.”

Laurent exhaled, finally feeling safe. It would be okay, because Auguste was big and strong and he would protect him if any monster came to get him. And he was warm, too, so Laurent snuggled closer, letting his brother’s arm wrap around him as sleep fell over them both.

***

As it turned out, the monster  _ really  _ liked Laurent’s room. Sometimes he heard it during the day, but that wasn’t so scary because if Laurent looked around, he could see that it wasn’t there. He’d learned two things about the monster: it didn’t like the daytime and it probably slept in Laurent’s wardrobe. So, as long as he never opened his wardrobe for the rest of his life, he would be okay.

The night was still scary, so he had to sleep in Auguste’s room. But Auguste was okay with that, so Laurent was fine.

Laurent’s nurse didn’t like it as much and she always made him try to go to bed in his bedroom. Laurent tried, for Alice’s sake. He pulled up the covers and squeezed his eyes shut and counted to ten over and over again, but he always felt like the monster was creeping out of his wardrobe. Alice didn’t understand that, and Auguste did, so every night after he was put to bed he ended up making his way down the halls.

It was a system that worked for Laurent, but his father didn’t like it either.

“Laurent,” the King said over breakfast. “Your nurse has told me something very troubling.”

Laurent picked at his fruit and tried to look innocent, but his father kept talking. “How old are you now? Six years old? And yet I have heard that you’ve been sleeping in your brother’s bed instead of your own for the past month.”

Auguste put down his fork. “With all due respect, Father, there’s a monster in his wardrobe.”

Laurent nodded his head earnestly but their father wasn’t appeased. “Oh, don’t encourage him, Auguste! You know as well as I do that there’s no monster!” Aleron turned to Laurent and patted his hand. “It’s just the wind, son. It reaches the southern side of the palace, where you sleep, and makes sounds in your fireplace.”

“There’s no monster in Auguste’s rooms,” Laurent murmured. 

“He sleeps on the northern side of the wing. The wind does not reach him.”

Laurent pouted. “Then why can’t I sleep there?”

Aleron sighed and swiped a hand over his face. “Because they are your  _ brother’s  _ rooms, not yours. And have you not considered that he might enjoy some privacy? The rumour is that his pets are very cross with you for making them remain in the residences.” Laurent sulked, because  _ he  _ was Auguste’s favourite, not his pets. And they were all men, when Auguste had  _ told  _ him that he liked women more. But he couldn’t say that to Father. “You are a big boy, Laurent, and the prince of Vere. It is high time that you stop being afraid of monsters.”

The rest of the breakfast passed silently, with Laurent frowning into his food and Auguste sending him sympathetic looks. He couldn’t help being scared, he explained to his brother later, when there was something worth being scared of.

“Do you think I’m being silly?” he asked Auguste.

“Of course not.” Auguste sat down on his couch beside Laurent. “Monsters are frightening. When I was your age, I thought I had giant dogs at the end of my bed.”

“You thought you did? You think I’m making this up?”

Auguste paused for a second and then turned to him. “No… What I’m saying is that the scariest thing about the monsters is the fact that you’re scared of them. Once you stop being afraid, the monster will get bored, and then your wardrobe will be just a wardrobe.”

Laurent groaned. “But I can’t do that! I’m not brave like you are.”

Auguste gasped and poked his nose. “Of course you are.”

Laurent shook his head. “No. I’m too little. Brave people are big and strong like you.”

Auguste gathered him in his arms and said, “That’s not true. Brave people can be little and smart, too.” 

Laurent just sulked against his brother’s chest, crossing his arms. “It doesn’t matter. I’m still afraid of the monster, so it’s never going to go away and Father will still be mad at me.”

His brother hummed thoughtfully. “Well, we can’t let that happen, now can we? We need a plan, little brother.”

“A plan?”

Auguste lifted Laurent off of his lap and rushed over to his desk, returning with parchment and a pen. “A plan of attack,” he said, and kneeled in front of the couch. “If you can’t be unafraid of the monster, we’ll just have to make sure the monster is afraid of you.”

Laurent stepped off the couch and joined his brother on the floor. “But how? I’m too little!”

“We’ll trick him. Tonight, I’ll go into your rooms instead of you, and when the monster comes out, I’ll fight him! Then he’ll be so scared that he’ll never bother you again.”

Laurent threw his arms around him. “Thank you, thank you!”

Auguste laughed. “Anything for my favourite little brother. But you have to promise me something, okay? The next time you see a monster, you have to get rid of it without me. You’re smart enough.”

“Okay, okay!” Laurent picked up the pen. “Now the plan!”

The next few hours they spent on the floor of Auguste’s rooms, scribbling notes and maps of Laurent’s rooms. They drew dotted lines to show Auguste’s steps, straight lines to show the monster’s, and circles to represent the spots Laurent would hide. It was simple and overly complicated all at once; a battle plan describing child’s play. 

For Laurent, it was perfect.

“Are you ready?” Auguste whispered to him. They were squished together in an alcove, around the corner from Laurent’s rooms.

He nodded.

Together, they creeped forward towards his doors. As they approached his guards, Auguste silently drew his sword from his sheath, his slow movements preventing his full-armoured body from clanking. He sent Laurent a single nod. This was his part of the plan.

“Hello, Arnaud!” he said loudly. “Hello, Donat!”

His guards were very confused and hiding it poorly. Still, after a glance above his head at Auguste, they responded with equal effort.

“Good evening, Your Highness…” Another glance. “... Prince Laurent!”

“My nurse Alice says that I have to go to bed in my rooms and stay the whole night! I am very tired and I am going to go to bed now. I will undress myself because I want to be alone!”

Stunned obedience. “Yes, Highness,” Arnaud said. “That sounds like a very good idea!”

Beside him, Auguste lowered his helm, so that the monster couldn’t recognize him. The plan would be very foolish otherwise.

“Thank you! Goodnight!”

That was Auguste’s cue. He crept forward, past the guards as they opened the doors, and into Laurent’s rooms. With a final soothing gesture, the doors were closed, him behind them. Laurent backed up against the opposite wall and went over the plan. The most important thing, Auguste had told him, was that Laurent stay outside no matter what. Auguste didn’t want him to be too close if the monster attacked. That was smart, Laurent thought. He didn’t know how to fight a monster, but Auguste would.

A loud bang came from inside of his rooms, making Laurent jump.

Another bang. And another. For a moment, Laurent wondered if Auguste was okay. Was the monster too scary? Was he too strong? What if Auguste got hurt and it was all Laurent’s fault and -

“Get out of my closet, you beast!” he heard Auguste yell from inside. 

Relief and anxiety battled in Laurent’s chest. There was another bang, and Laurent realized that he was chewing his nails. More and more sounds began to ring from behind the doors: the monster’s roars, Auguste’s grunts of exertion, the bumping of furniture. Here and there, Auguste yelled, “Take this!” or “Take that!” It sounded like he was winning.

Finally, he heard a humongous roar and then… nothing. Laurent scrambled away from his wall, and stood anxiously in front of the doors, not daring to make a single sound. After what felt like ages, the doors opened, and Auguste popped his head out. “I think we showed him, little brother,” he grinned.

Laurent squealed in happiness and ran forward, letting Auguste pick him up into his arms.

“Is he gone?” he demanded. “Did you beat him?”

Auguste’s mouth dropped open, scandalized. “Did you think I’d lose?”

“No, no!” Laurent rushed to fix it. “I knew you could do it! You’d never lose!”

Auguste smiled and lowered him to the ground again. “Your faith in me is touching. I don’t think we have to worry about those monsters anymore, though. That one’s going to be running back to all of his friends and tell them not to pick on Prince Laurent of Vere.”

Laurent gawked. “You think they’re scared of me?”

Auguste booped his nose. “I think they’ll know better than to leave the wardrobe.” He knelt down until he was at Laurent’s eye level and said, “And if they do, you know now that you can beat them. All monsters can be brought down.”

“I can’t do it without you.”

“Of course you can. I’m always going to be here to help, but I don’t need to do it for you. I think my brave, smart little brother is a force to be reckoned with all by himself.”

Laurent’s eyes lit up. “I can trick them like chess!” Auguste laughed. “Or set traps like in my books!”

Auguste picked himself up off the ground. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. Now go to bed.”

Unafraid, Laurent did as his brother said. 

And the monster never left the closet. 

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr @thelynchbros!


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